


solivagant

by playmaker



Series: liminal spaces [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Break Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Fights, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, sometimes neil and andrew have misaligned beliefs, theres some heartless jabs and a good handful of yelling, what an accurate tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:36:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playmaker/pseuds/playmaker
Summary: Some days, Neil was reminded that no matter how hard he tried to bleed the Wesninski from himself, he was still his fathers son, and Nathaniel Wesninski could burn down cities with the wildfires in his veins.





	solivagant

**Author's Note:**

> honestly... every song by eden is so andreil is makes me physically ill.  
> wrote this in like forty minutes bc i needed to distract myself from the reincarnation au for these kids im working on  
> this isnt beta'd and the tenses change like three times between present and past but im too lazy to fix it so... yolo  
> casual admittance: this is horrendously out of character and this entire thing is just me self projecting so like... have at it i guess

There is a heavy weight pressing into Neil's ribs, pinning him helplessly to worn concrete. He can't see, not really, like his eyes are half closed and he can never open them wide enough. There's a searing pain in his left leg and he knows without even seeing that there is a knife plunged behind his knee, barely missing his hamstring tendon. Neil can feel blood pooling underneath him, impossibly hot wherever it touches his skin, yet unbearably icy the minute it touches the concrete.

He tears his right arm free from a grip he wasn't even aware it was in and  _swings_. It's as though his arm is pushing through molasses, slower than he's ever moved despite the force Neil knew he put into the punch. After what feels like hours, blood flowing with no apparent end, pain screaming all over his body, his fist connects to what he thinks is a jaw, and his resolve practically melts. Every muscle keeping that tight fist suddenly gave, rendered completely useless in an onslaught of exhaustion, as if he had been ready for a fight that wouldn't come so easily for years.

All at once, Neil felt so, so tired. His arm dropped uselessly to his side without Neil wanting it to. After years of running from an unkillable man, Neil thought he knew what it meant to be powerless. The fear that came with being chased, however, was nothing compared to the fear accompanying being  _caught_.

It is the sound more than the feeling of every bone in Neil's hand breaking that pulls him back to wherever this was. His head lolls to the side, and through his hazy weakness, Neil sees a heavy boot grinding into his fingers, smearing bits of himself against the ground. Neil doesn't make a sound. He isn't even sure he's breathing.

The pressure on Neil lifts abruptly, and Neil can feel eyes as cold and blue as a frozen lake consider him for a moment. A huff of bitter laughter echoes around Neil, and he can't tell if it was him or his father that it came form. 

Neil's hair is grabbed roughly, and he is forced face to face with his father. Neil still can't see around the blur of his half-closed eyes, but he has seen the look on his fathers face enough to imagine the cruel smile surely painting it. Blood beads at his scalp and Neil dully registers the shadow of a fist raising and coming towards him. 

Neil feels the exact moment he dies. He feels his nose crack in a dozen places, he feels hot blood flow from places on himself he is too dazed to identify, he feels his skull denting and caving in on itself. 

He only realizes he is falling when his head does not fall back into a pool of his own pieces. 

 _A dream,_ he notices in a panic as he falls faster and faster, engulfed in an absence of  _everything_ to an unknown destination.  _Wake up, wake **up** —_

He hits his floor with a heavy thud, forced off the bed by his own unconscious panic. He scrambles into a sitting position, shaking violently, as he cradles his right hand limply to his heaving chest. His other hand finds its place covering Neil's mouth and nose, the phantom feeling of his own body breaking apart claiming every nerve.

Now that he was awake, Neil's senses were all present, but the only thing that allowed for was a detailed relay of the dream painting his thoughts.

He wasn't entirely sure how long he sat on the floor, his back pressed against the bedframe, but Neil heard the soft click of the bedroom door opening what was probably moments later. Neil scrambled back, right hand still pulled tight to his chest, until he had backed himself up into the crook between the nightstand and the bed. Andrew was standing in the doorway staring at Neil, one hand resting on the doorknob. He glanced Neil up and down, narrowing his eyes at him as he took in Neil's shaking form, sweat sticking to every part of him. Neil shuddered once, hard, at the feeling of sweat trickling down his back, the feeling reminding him of the blood-  _there was so much blood_.

"Nightmare?" Andrew asked evenly. Without meaning to, Neil flinched as soon as Andrew spoke, causing the other to sigh irritably. Some part of Neil, the part of him that was most present, knew that Andrew was only irritated because Neil's fear was misplaced- they both knew that.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Andrew asked, letting his hand fall from the door.

 _Yes,_ Neil thinks desperately, wrapping one arm around himself and digging his fingers into his side to try and stop his shaking. "Get out," is what he says instead, voice hard and laced with something angry Neil hardly recognized.

Something flashes across Andrew's eyes; surprise maybe, but Neil is more focused on trying to swallow the bile that had begun climbing up his throat at his own voice.

Andrew's jaw flexes, as his he's swallowing a reply, an affirmation. He turns to leave, looking at Neil over his shoulder for a moment.

 _Every fucking day,_ Neil thinks, choked.  _I'm more like him every day._

Andrew pauses halfway out the door and levels Neil with a hard look. "You are not. You are fucking  _nothing_ like him," he tells Neil, nothing but an honest fierceness in his voice, as if it was the only thing that could be true.

Neil flinches again, but not out of a conditioned fear this time. He didn't mean to say that out loud, and today- today no matter what Andrew said, Neil knew deep in his heart that he wouldn't believe any of it. Not right then, at least.

"You don't know what he was even  _like_ ," Neil snapped before he could stop himself. "You can't say I'm nothing like him when you don't understand. I'm more like him than you will ever know, Andrew." Andrew's jaw tightened again, shoulders tensing in anticipation.

Neil was still backed up against the nightstand, but he had stopped shaking out of fear. Now, he was shuddering with anger. He wasn't angry at Andrew; he  _knew_ that, but that inherited rage bubbling under his skin was enough to overpower his reasoning. He was seething openly and blindly; at his father, his nightmare, his childhood- all of it was clawing its way out of Neil's heart after all this time, encouraged by the helplessness he had felt in his dream. He was not  _helpless,_ he was a Wesninski. Nathaniel Wesninski was a storm that refused to calm.

 _It isn't Andrew's fault_ , his brain told him.  _You know it isn't._ He knew that. He knew that but he still couldn't snuff out the simmering temper- his willpower was losing to his bloodline, and it made Neil's rage grow.

He stood on shaky legs, willing his stuttering knees to hold up the lead weight of his bones. Andrew watched him stand, his own quiet ire flickering across his expression. Neil leveled him with a hard stare.

"Get out." Neil's voice held more force that time, like an order, coming out steadier than he would have anticipated had there been room for additional thoughts in his head at the moment.

Andrew squared his shoulders and looked back at Neil, head on, showing no signs of fear. "I will not leave you alone like this."

There was that conviction in his voice again- that  _sureness_ , and it made Neil's skin crawl. His eyes burned, but the situation did not call for tears, so the tears did not come.

"You will," Neil bit back through gritted teeth, as if the power of suggestion would change Andrew's mind. It didn't, like Neil knew it wouldn't, but he had already decided the moment he stood from the ground that whatever this battle would become, he would not lose. 

Andrew stood at the doorway, making no attempt to move closer to Neil, but also showing no signs of leaving. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at Neil blankly as if he was waiting for his next move.

The intensified annoyance thrumming under Neil's skin overflowed then, and Andrew would not have to wait long for Neil's next reaction.

"What the fuck is your  _deal_ with me then?" Neil fired back, his voice unbearably loud and bouncing off of too cramped walls. "I'm nothing to you, remember? Neil Josten is  _nothing_ and he will always be nothing, but- for fucks sake, Andrew, he can't  _be_ anything. He was created from thin air; he never existed before Palmetto. But Nathaniel? I am not  _nothing_ Andrew Minyard, and you would do well to learn what it is I am- what I had to be. If you haven't realized that all my father gave me was ugly scars and faults, then you're an idiot. I have bled, and bled, and bled, but I could not bleed that man out of me." Neil practically snarled the last part, feet planted firmly where he stood even when his hands clenched at his sides and his nails drew blood.

Andrew's eyes darkened and Neil was sure he heard his jaw crack with how much force Andrew was using to clench it. Neil was breathing heavily, both from the traces of panic before, and the strain of yelling louder than he ever dared to the one person Neil never would have imagined directing the family heirloom of this white hot anger towards.

"Honesty," Andrew began with an uncharacteristically tense voice, "is turning into a rather ugly look on you, Neil Josten." 

Andrew was  _livid_ \- Neil knew that, and he also knew that Andrew was biting his tongue for Neil's sake. The thought that even then, even after Neil lashed out at him like he never had at  _anyone_ , Andrew was holding back to spare Neil made his stomach twist into knots.

Neil curled and uncurled his fists a few times, fiery eyes never leaving Andrew's. After a moment too long of tense silence, Neil scoffed and reached angrily for his pack of cigarettes on the nightstand, stuffing them into his pocket and stomping towards the door where Andrew still stood. Andrew coolly searched Neil's face, looking for something, Neil was sure. Whether he found it or not was lost to Neil, but Andrew's voice interrupted that particular thought.

"Just because you believe something doesn't make it true," was all he said, voice blank and face expressionless once more.

Neil barked out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, sure."

Andrew stepped out of Neil's way and Neil immediately brushed past him, impatiently pulling on his shoes with full intention of leaving for a few hours to calm down.

To his veiled surprise, Andrew had followed him towards the door. He was still a few feet away, leaning against the wall with posture that would read as casual to anyone else, but the look on his face was fierce. Neil stared evenly at him with his hand already on the doorknob, waiting for Andrew to throw in whatever two cents were surely coming.

"If you leave now," he said, dozens of different emotions coloring his voice more vibrantly than Neil had ever heard, "do not  _ever_ come back here."

Neil lets the door slam behind him on the way out.

**Author's Note:**

> if u have anger problems... sometimes........ when u get really angry..... u do things that you know will deliberately hurt yourself or others in a pitiful act of what u believe to be control over ur own actions......... its not ! thats ur anger controlling u !  
> does neil ever come home? does he sit on a park bench for eight hours and chainsmoke before andrew finally drives around to find him after theyve both cooled off? does neil apologize? does andrew even go after him? up to u


End file.
